


Taking Back Its Leaves

by Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite> Much has bereaved me, / And still bereaves, / But I feel like an autumn tree / Taking back its leaves.</cite></p><p>-<cite>Autumn Tree</cite>, Witter Bynner</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Back Its Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely Parenthetical &lt;3

> 
>     There’s April in the Autumn,  
>     > December in the May;  
>     > There are many Springs forgotten,  
>     > More that stay.
>     
>     Much has bereaved me,  
>     > And still bereaves,  
>     > But I feel like an autumn tree  
>     > Taking back its leaves.
>     
>     -Autumn Tree, Witter Bynner  
>     > 
> 
>   
> 

Dean's funeral is held on a crisp December day.

The coffin slides into the crematorium, tasteful curtains gliding shut over the metal doors, and Sam knows it'll burn bright and hot inside, blueish flames crackling up where they meet the salt he's poured carefully into the silk lining. He waits silently till the music stops playing, the last notes of _Stairway to Heaven _sounding out loud across the hush.The choice of song raised a few eyebrows, but it's their private joke - his and Dean's. Just his now, Sam reflects.

The rest of the day passes smoothly, everyone back at the house bearing pot roast and drinks. Lots of drinks: by the end of the night half the people there are riotously drunk, tossing back whisky and tequila as well as beers and sharing ever more ridiculous and salacious stories about Dean. Sam takes a glass of whisky when he's urged to, but the rest of the night he sticks to soda, listening with a quiet smile to the stories and keeping an eye on the kids, whom no one has the heart to send to bed.

The next day, he slips quietly out of the house while almost everyone else is still sleeping, and collects the ashes. He heads out for the hills, driving as far as the Impala can take him, and walks the last few steps up to where there's a little spring bubbling up out of the rocks. They came here once, the two of them.

Sam unscrews Dean's old hip-flask and raises it in a silent toast before knocking back a good slug. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only just catches himself in the motion of turning to hand it to Dean, the way he did at their dad's funeral, and at Bobby's, and all the others since. He sets it carefully on a rock instead, before unscrewing the urn and letting the fine powder sift out over his fingers. It settles down into the water, floating on the surface for a moment before the stream carries it away.

'See you, Dean,' he says softly.

When he gets back to the house, Jessie is sitting out on the porch waiting for him. The house stands silent behind her, the rest of its inhabitants still sleeping off the party.

'Are you okay?' she asks. She's twelve years old, eyes big and wide with worry.

'I'm fine, baby.' Sam wraps one arm around her, pulls her in close to him. 'Just taking care of things.'

She nods at him seriously, looking up at him from under the crook of his arm. 'Grandpa Dean would've liked the party, wouldn't he?'

'He really would.' Sam shucks off his jacket and wraps it carefully round her shoulders before he limps up the steps.

The house is still full of sleeping people, more than a few of them stretched out on the floor amidst half-drunk bottles. Sam's study is empty, though, and he closes the door quietly before sinking gratefully into his chair.

'We made it,' he whispers, and it's only now that he lets himself feel the sense of elation at all that means.

He starts to smile, feels it blossom into a ridiculous, goofy grin so broad it hurts his cheeks. 'We made it, Dean.'

When they find his body, a couple of hours later, the smile's still on his face.


End file.
